Atid
by Buckeye2005
Summary: Tag to "A Desperate Man" which also includes future post 13x24 "Family First." Tony and Ziva make a pact about their future after the conversation in the squadroom. Tony POV. One-shot. Atid is "future" in Hebrew.


**A/N: I was lurking on Tumblr and saw a comment about "marriage pact" fanfic between Tony and Ziva. One of my favorite things to write ages (eons) ago was JAG fanfic and there was a "baby pact" in the show that proved to be so much fanfic fodder. Had to agree with the Tumblr comment about how there should be T/Z marriage pact fic and I thought I would go ahead and write it. It's probably not good, but oh well, I tried. :) Enjoy! I had fun with this one. (Oh and I also never believed that Ziva had never been to Tony's apartment, as indicated in "You Better Watch Out." :)  
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They went for a drink after leaving the building with Detective Burress. He knew she needed to decompress before she went home. It would be unlike her to wallow in any sort of self-pity or depression, mostly because she forced herself not to feel any emotions. To convince her that what she was feeling didn't matter in the grand scheme of things. They did matter, he felt like yelling at her sometimes, when he saw her withdraw into herself. Lying to herself about how she felt because the other alternative was unacceptable.

Hell, I may as well be in the same boat, he figured, looking over at her as they took a seat at the bar. She tapped her knuckles on the hard oak countertop, glancing sideways at him. "Do you believe he will be alright? He loved her very much." She was feeling guilty for the Lieutenant's death, he figured. Like her involvement of Ray was what contributed to it, when it had nothing to do with it at all.

"He's going to be fine." There would be tough times ahead for the Detective, but he'd seen men like that before in Baltimore and Philly. Burress would be alright. He leaned over the bar slightly. "Can I get a gin and tonic and…whatever's on tap." He wanted to be semi-sharp. He knocked his knuckles on the bar this time, glancing at her again. She was staring into space or at the lined up bottles of liquor on the back of the bar, but he was banking on the former. "Hey…" He reached over and touched her hand, smiling. "He'll be fine."

She nodded again and then accepted the drink from the bartender with a mumbled 'Toda.' She was thinking in Hebrew, must be deep, he figured. He sipped his beer and watched her take a few deep gulps of her gin and tonic. She set the short glass down hard on the bar and turned to look at him. "You know, I keep thinking of it in my head." She pointed to her temple. "How did I not see it? How could I not see what was right in front of me?"

"Because you loved him," he said. That was the easiest and honest answer. You very rarely could see the truth when love clouded the way. He took another few sips of his drink, shaking his head when she scoffed. "No it's the truth. Don't beat yourself up about it."

"I should have been able to see it," she murmured, finishing off the gin. She wiggled her glass to the bartender. "Fill him up!"

He sighed. "It's 'fill 'er up.'"

"I do not care, I want more." She rounded on him, narrowing her eyes. "You were quiet when I mentioned a family. Have you ever thought of having one yourself?"

Oh boy. I'm going to need to keep drinking, he thought, pulling hard from the glass of beer. He nodded to the fresh drink in front of her. "Go easy there tiger. That's not water they're pouring in there." She tilted her head back and drank some more. I'm in trouble, he thought, taking several more gulps of beer. "A family? Ziva David are you asking personal questions?"

"I may be." She pursed her lips, turning on the barstool and leaned closer to him, her voice dropping as she swished the gin around in her glass. "Because you like to ask me personal questions. I said that I did not believe a family…children even…would be in my future and…I want to know if you believe a wife and children are in yours?"

The cups, he thought, flashing back to Gibbs's basement. You couldn't have both. _So don't be like me DiNozzo._ He spun the glass around and lifted it back up, finishing it off. He knocked it towards the bartender. He needed something stronger. "Absolut, straight up," he ordered. He waited for the vodka to land before him, taking a burning drink of it to answer her question. She was almost done with her second gin and it was starting to show. She was leaning even closer to him now. Something he didn't think she'd do if she were in full control of her faculties. "I was engaged, that's more than you've been," he teased.

She snorted in response. "Yes, that is true. I mean…I suppose I was engaged. For a day."

"You didn't say yes."

"I said I would think about it."

"And in the end, my fiancée dumped me the night before the wedding." He looked at her again, seeing her surprise. He shrugged, quiet. "Didn't matter. Wendy and I wouldn't have worked out in the end."

"Do you think about it though? Doing it again?" She blinked up at him, her eyes dark and intense. "Proposing? Marriage?"

Marriage? He'd thought about it, obviously. Been thinking about it more and more, it seemed this was the year of Thinking About The Future. It didn't matter though. Who would he propose to? It wasn't like there'd been anyone serious since Jeanne Benoit and that wasn't even real in the end. That was a mark. Before that…he didn't know. Wendy maybe. E.J. was just a friend with benefits. They were too alike for anything to work out long term. He propped his head on his hand, spinning the vodka around in front of him. "Would need someone to propose to," he said, lifting the vodka to his lips.

She nodded again and finished off her gin. Her words were starting to slur. He frowned a little; she never let herself get this far out of control unless she was really upset about something. _I am perfectly…perfectly content with my life._ She may have been content, but she was not happy. That was obvious. "It's just…I did not really imagine it until I came here to the United States I…I wanted a family of course, but my job, Mossad…I was so young. I came here and saw…I saw people with families. I realized I wanted it." She bit her lower lip and pressed her palm into her forehead, whispering to herself. "I am content with my life."

That was the second time she'd repeated it that evening. You're just not happy, he repeated in his head. They leaned against the bar, both of them in the same sorry state of their lives. That point where the job was wearing more and more and the idea of a family seemingly disappearing day by day. Are you, she'd countered to him. That was the million-dollar question too, wasn't it? Was he happy? He didn't know what that would feel like. And if he didn't know what happiness felt like, wasn't that just freaking miserable?

They continued to drink. He finally gave up trying to keep up with her and let her drown herself. If this was how she wanted to deal with it now, he would let her. The man she'd been with for a year had killed an innocent woman, proposed to her, stood her up…destroyed her. If I could kill Ray Cruz I would, he thought darkly. How could he do that to her? Didn't he see the woman he had in front of him? Someone loyal and kind and beautiful and…oh hell. He was drinking too much. "What do you say we get out of here?" he suggested, polishing off the vodka.

She shook her head, signaling for another drink. "Just one more."

"How about at my place? Finest hooch on the Eastern Seaboard that isn't in Gibbs's basement. Come on." He knew how it sounded, but he didn't think she needed to go home alone right now. Besides, he didn't know what all of Ray was left in her apartment and that would be the worst, her coming home and finding his suitcase or something still left behind.

She wrinkled her nose. "Your place?"

"Promise, it's not the cesspool you think it is," he teased. He stood up and threw down some cash to cover their drinks.

He made a move to lift her off her barstool when she turned, pointing to him with her newly freshened gin and tonic. "Ah, watch the hands. I may have had a few to drink, but I can still kill you with my pinkie finger." I don't doubt that, he thought, lifting his eyebrows as she took another gulp of the gin, expelling a hard cough after swallowing it. She touched her throat, wincing. "Ouch. That one hurt."

"Ah, ninja Mossad skills don't extend to drinking?" He reached over and took the glass from her, setting it on the counter. "Come on." He ignored her protests, but didn't touch her in case she wasn't kidding about killing him with her pinkie. Incidentally he made a mental note to ask how you could do that.

They'd been in the bar for less than an hour, but that didn't mean that neither was up to driving. He had downed that vodka on an empty stomach way too fast, so into a cab they went, driving silently to his apartment. She leaned against him, sighing and looking out the window beside the door at his side. "It's a nice night," she mumbled. She blinked a few times and yawned. "Take me back to my apartment." She yawned again, covering her mouth with the back of her hand, sighing. "Or I will scream kidnapping."

"No, you won't scream kidnapping, you'll just kill me," he said with a quick smile. She grinned in response, probably agreeing with him. He shook his head again, whispering. "No, you need to dry out somewhere not your house."

"I am fine. I told you."

"You just drank three gin and tonics in one hour on an empty stomach. How you're still standing…"

"I am Israeli." She hiccupped and blinked a few times. "We can process alcohol better than anyone. Even Gibbs."

"Well that's saying something." They drove in silence and he paid the cab driver, leaving her to trip out of the cab on her own, since she claimed she didn't need his help, then cursed in Hebrew as she caught her coat in the door of the cab. God, she was a mess, he hated seeing her like this. He led her up to his floor, looking over his shoulder at her as she curiously peeked around his elbow into his apartment. "Don't make a mess," he ordered.

She snorted and walked ahead of him into the apartment. "Please, I do not know how you could even…" she trailed off, shrugging at her coat. She blinked, narrowing her eyes around the immaculate space. "Tell."

He closed the door and took her coat, bringing it to the closet, where he hung them both up. He placed his gun in the box beside the stereo system on the shelf and made a move to take hers, but she slapped his hand away and removed her holster from her hip, casually tossing the gun at him as she turned in a circle. "As I said," he sighed, locking the box up. "Don't make a mess."

She'd made a beeline for the dry bar he had set up in the shelving unit in his kitchen, pulling out a bottle of vodka and poured herself a glass. She didn't even waste time before drinking it. She shook her head, spinning around to face him. "Why are you doing this?" she demanded.

He took the glass from her and sipped, before handing it back. She scowled and pushed the contaminated glass at him, turning back to fix herself another one. "Because I didn't think you should be alone. Not after all that's happened. We're friends."

"You do this for all your friends whose boyfriends are arrested for murder?"

"Only the friends I like." He realized it slipped out before he could catch himself, but she didn't pick up on it. He leaned against the doorframe, watching as she put the cap back on the Stoli and set it on the shelf again. She twisted the glass around on the baseboard, releasing a long sigh. He pursed his lips and released a sigh of his own. "You'll get it one day Ziva."

She shook her head and he saw the light from above his stove glisten off her eyes. She blinked the tears away quickly, turning her head from him. His heart broke a little bit for her. To show emotion was to show weakness, it had been battered into her since she was a kid. "I do not believe so," she whispered. She hiccupped again and quickly smiled, glancing sideways at him. "You will probably have a wife and children before me…at least you…you have plenty of options to choose from."

The endless rotation of women had ended a while ago. He was trying something new nowadays. He shook his head, whispering. "And you have plenty of options too Ziva. Face it; you're a better catch than I am. Plus you know…you can kill any man who pisses you off. With your pinkie," he laughed.

She laughed too and reached to flick away at her tears with her knuckles. She turned away and walked into the living room, taking a seat on the edge of the couch, her glass dropping to sit on the coffee table. "I just think of Detective Burress," she murmured. She closed her eyes and fell back into the couch cushions. Her voice softened. "The pain he's going through. You could tell he really loved his wife. I just wonder what it would be like to feel like that…that is what it should be about."

There was no way she'd be saying this if she hadn't been well into a bottle of hard liquor at this point. He figured he should join her and took another pull from the glass in his hand, walking over to join her on the edge of the couch. He blinked through some of the dizziness he suddenly felt and leaned back beside her, their shoulders touching. He loosened his tie and suddenly thought of something. He looked sideways. Her eyes were shut. The lashes were so long they dusted against her cheek. He smiled to himself and watched her for a moment. "Do you remember Paris?" he whispered.

"Paris?"

"Yeah…" He'd been thinking of it recently. Hearing her so upset about getting stood up by Ray, the memories that evoked of her father's mistreatment of her emotions…they had it nice in Paris. They were carefree with each other. They'd…shared things. More than they ever had before. It was easier in another country where they were Tony and Ziva instead of Agent DiNozzo and Agent David. Rule 12 didn't really count in Paris, he'd joked, as they'd walked along the streets after that day of sightseeing. They'd gone to the hotel and instead of arguing over who got the couch and who got the bed; they'd just stayed up talking and ended up falling asleep together. They hadn't spoken of it again. He'd wanted to, just to see what she thought of it all. They'd acted like nothing had happened, despite him dropping hints afterward to talk about it. Ziva played her cards close and she didn't feel if it made her uncomfortable.

At least he suspected it was a good thing that she didn't want to talk about it. If it made her uncomfortable that was a good thing for him, right? He glanced sideways again. She was finishing off her drink. "Yes," she said. She got up and went into the kitchen, returning with a bottle.

Going Gibbs now, he thought, as she poured bourbon into her glass. He finished the vodka, feeling extra lightheaded now. He had to be, if they were going to have this conversation. He set his glass out and she filled it with three fingers. They both clinked the glasses together and sipped. "I was just thinking about it is all," he mumbled, swishing the dark liquid around in the glass. He watched it lap at the lip of the glass and tossed back another gulp.

"It was quite nice," she murmured, the glass pressed to her temple. Her eyes were closed and she sighed, smiling. "I did not sleep well…after Somalia." She opened one eye and smirked at him. "That night was the first time I slept through the night."

"We had fun."

"Yes." She snorted, pointing to him and laughing. "Your French! You ordered the bad cheese!"

"I said croissant!"

"Your accent was so bad you said 'fromage'!"

He laughed with her and finished the bourbon, feeling sufficiently floating right now. He leaned closer to her, his fingers dancing through hers. "That's still my favorite picture."

She turned to look at him, still smiling. She sighed deeply, murmuring. "I would like to live in Paris again…if I ever have to escape, I believe I would go there. I love it."

"And why would you need to escape?" he murmured.

She looked away, her fingers still dancing lightly around his in the air. We're both so drunk we probably just can't quite meet, he thought, figuring what better than to drink some more, slopping bourbon into his glass. "You never know," she said. She laughed again and kept drinking, her throat constricting with her swallow as she sat up and pointed to him, turning slightly to face him from the edge of the couch. "My future is…is a mystery right now. I do not know where I will be in…in hell a year. Let alone in ten, but I would…I would like to live in Paris again."

"There's an NCIS office in Marsielles."

She smiled, shaking her head and chuckling. "Maybe I do not want to do this my whole life either." She sighed once more. "I do not believe children and a husband are in my future but yes, in ten years it would be nice to have that."

Ten years…he'd be over 50 by then, geez. He sat up, knocking his feet down to the floor. "Tell you what," he said, dropping the bourbon glass onto the wicker coffee table and reached for a pad of paper and a pen. "Let's make a pact." This was totally the combination of beer, vodka, and bourbon talking. He could barely see straight.

She finished her drink. "A pact?"

"Yeah. We won't do ten years, because we'll both be ancient. How about five?"

"Five?"

"Yeah. Five years, we're not married with kids, and then we marry each other. Deal?" He instantly regretted saying it at the wide-eyed look she gave him. He blinked. "Or…" He frowned, pointing to her with the pen. "Or we forget I said anything." Damnit. His heart pounded in his chest, trying to see through the fog of the alcohol. What did he just say?

She frowned, her brow wrinkled as she processed what he just said. "But…but five years…what about Rule 12?"

"Well maybe we deal with that when we deal with that." Maybe he won't be with NCIS anymore. Maybe she wouldn't. Maybe Rule 12 wouldn't matter anymore because Gibbs would change the rule or add a new one. He thought about that. Maybe that wouldn't happen but it was five years out. Who cared at this point?

They both sat there for a few minutes. She finished her drink and slammed the glass down. "Deal."

What?

He blinked, seeing fuzzy edges around her as she turned to smile at him, her hand outstretched. "What did you say?" he slurred. He fell back against the couch. What did he just ask? He was really tired.

She turned around and drew her legs beneath her, leaning beside him, her elbow on top of the couch cushions, her other hand going to tap at his nose. "I said you have a deal," she said with a grin. She shrugged. "Why not? It is in five years. That is…very far away." She smiled again. "And it will give me encouragement to move on. To find someone else of course."

He rolled his eyes as she laughed. "Five years…living in the moment and all." This case had shown them that much. You never knew what was going to happen, it could all be gone in an instant. He reached over for her hand. "Shake on it."

Instead of shaking, she leaned in and took his face into her hands, kissing him hard on the mouth. He frowned for a moment, narrowing his eyes on her. She was clearly drunk. Well so was he, but he was at least sober enough to know that if he'd done this she'd paralyze him. He blinked, surprised, looking straight through her again. She smiled and leaned back in, brushing her nose over his and she sighed. "Shaking is silly for something like this. Consider it a pact." She leaned over and scribbled on the notepad, turning it towards him.

He tried to make out her writing, but figured what it said, scribbling his name on it. "Done. Legally binding. Five years from now, we're not married, we marry each other."

"Done." She smirked and stood up, shaky. "I'm going home."

"You going to be okay?"

She snorted and stumbled a bit towards the door. "I'll be fine."

"Maybe you should stay. I'll take the couch," he said, yawning.

"You'll complain of your back."

"Naw, I like this couch." He pointed to his room, yawning again. "You take the bed."

She walked into his bedroom and yelled. "You have a twin bed! What is the matter with you? No wonder your back hurts!"

He chuckled, taking his tie off and throwing it onto the coffee table. His head was starting to hurt. He tugged a blanket off the top of the couch and pulled it over him, feeling everything kind of start fading away as he slipped off into sleep, too tired to move or say anything else, the alcohol completely knocking him out. He thought in the middle of the night he heard a door close, but didn't think anything of it. At some point he got off the couch, his back killing him, and wandered into his bedroom, crashing out on the bed, his arms wrapping around her and feeling her snuggle back into his chest. It wasn't until he woke up, the only one in the bed, his head pounding and his phone ringing loudly, did he realize he was alone.

The phone on the nightstand continued to ring and he answered it, rubbing his eyes. "Lo'?" he mumbled.

"Where are you!? Rule 3 Tony!"

"Calm down McGee," he croaked. He grabbed the alarm clock, eyes wide. Whoa, he was late. He looked around the bed, but she was gone. "Um…where are you?"

"At the office, but we're about to head to Pax River, body found in visiting officer's quarters there. Ziva's already here."

"Um…she okay?"

"Why wouldn't she be?"

Because she drank about a bottle of hard liquor last night, was really upset, her ex-boyfriend was arrested for murder, and…and…he frowned, blinking through the haze. Something else happened but he couldn't remember what it was. He shook his head. "Forget it. I'll be there." He disconnected and jumped out of the bed, grabbing his electric razor and running it over his face as he changed out of his suit into a new one, stumbling half-dressed down the hallway and out onto the sidewalk, hailing a cab.

They didn't speak of it at all that day. Nothing. It never came up again. It wasn't for a few years, after she left, did he locate the folded up piece of paper shoved in the couch cushions. He read it over and over again, the memories flooding back. They talked about Paris. They made that pact. She kissed him. He closed his eyes, folding the paper up and pressing his forehead against it, wishing once again they had actually talked. It didn't matter, it would never happen. He'd put the paper, their contract as it were, in a box and shoved it in his closet, trying hard not to think about it seeing as he was dating Zoe and Zoe was good for him. Serious. Maybe even someone he could propose to, he thought, but backed off of that quickly.

She broke up with him a few weeks after he found the paper. Said that he didn't want to commit. It wasn't worth it anymore. They had fun, they liked each other, but not once did he ever say 'love' and not once had he shown any desire to commit long term. You're still in love with someone else, she'd said. The woman they don't talk about in the office but who clearly was still there. A ghost. He didn't argue with her, but accepted it, and acknowledge it was true. There was only one woman he had ever considered proposing to. Practically had. Twice now.

About a year after he found that paper, with their signatures and agreement on it, he found it again. He'd been moving some boxes around, as they moved into their house along the Normandy coastline. He shuffled through some old photos, files from work with old paperwork, and out fell the crumpled piece of paper. He lifted it up and flicked it open, staring down at the scribbled writing. He smiled and got to his feet, heading out of the spare bedroom and down the stairs, walking out into the backyard, and over to where his daughter was puttering around with her shovel and pail, wearing an oversize jacket to ward off the early fall chill from the Channel nearby. She turned and saw him, her face beaming in a smile. "Abba!"

He grinned, his heart lifting at the sight of her. It literally hurt when he wasn't around her. He knelt and lifted her up, kissing her nose. "You shoveling?"

"Flowers."

"You're planting flowers?"

"We are planting trees," a clear voice called from the bushes. Ziva emerged from behind a large bush, smiling at him. She set down some of the gardening tools in her hands, looking over at him, her dark hair falling over her face. He walked over and brushed some soil from her cheek, smiling down at her. She leaned in and brushed her lips over his, kissing quickly. She raked her fingers through his hair, smirking. "You need a haircut."

"Naw, I'm good."

"Scratchy," Tali said, giving him a kiss and rubbing her tiny hand on his beard. He smiled and scraped his cheek over hers, delighting in her equally delightful squeal as she flung her arms around his neck.

"Do not get her all wild up."

"Riled," he corrected, kissing her again. He hoisted Tali up on his hip a little higher and passed her the paper in his hand. "I found this upstairs."

She unfolded the paper and scanned it. After a moment, she smiled, passing it back to him. "It seems we beat even our…agreement." She tapped it with her index finger. "Although I do not believe that that is legally binding, seeing as both of us were in considerable emotional distress and were…how do you say…basted?"

"Wasted."

"Yes, we were wasted. I do not believe we knew what we were agreeing to," she drawled, moving closer to him, her arm draping around his neck. She smiled as he continued to study her, trying to keep his face expressionless. What was she playing, he thought, touching his forehead to hers. She smiled again, her lips pulling over her teeth, laughing. A sound he loved to hear from her and heard often these days. "Where did you find that?"

"In some stuff," he said, finally smiling in return. "I guess I had it all this time."

"Would you have ever acted on it?"

I don't know, he thought. He hadn't thought about it much after finding it. Would he have called her? Maybe. If things hadn't gone the way they'd gone. He'd have found out about Tali then, maybe. He could have just crumpled it up, left her to live her life in peace. "Guess it doesn't matter," he said, drawing her towards him again for another kiss. Tali inserted herself between them, jealous when they were affectionate with each other as she wanted to be the center of their attention. He shoved the paper into his back pocket, smiling down at her. "You happy?"

Ziva lifted her hand to his face and patted his cheek, brushing her thumb over his lower lip. She smiled again and nodded, turning her attention to Tali, her face lighting up again. "Come here," she laughed, lifting Tali from his arms and carrying her on her hip, spinning in circles as they danced back to the farmhouse.

He shoved his hands into his pockets and watched as she set Tali down on the terrace, both of them dancing in place. He lifted a hand out to rake through his hair and glanced down at the glint from the wedding band on his left hand. It still felt odd, but not in a bad way. He moved towards the house as Ziva called for him, Tali shouting for him too. He jumped over the threshold into the house, closing the door behind him. Ziva came over and nudged against him. "What?" he asked.

She took his hands into hers, linking their fingers together and squeezing them down at their sides. "I remember that evening," she said. Oh yeah, he thought, saying nothing as she spoke. There was still a happy twinkle in her eye, but it was always there these days. "And I remember thinking that you did not have to do what you did and that it was not just the bourbon." Her eyes softened at the edges and she dropped to a whisper. "I remember thinking how…kind you were. How sweet and…and lovely it all was." She hesitated and then pressed her lips together, smiling. She cleared her throat. "I thought of that night…many times. That you talked about Paris too. I could not have imagined that day…after all that had happened that five years from then I would have a…" Her voice cracked. "A beautiful little girl. That I would have a man who loved me and who would go to the other side of the world to find me…who would give up his job for our family." She bit her lower lip hard and laughed, wiping at her eyes. "And look at us. We are married before our deadline."

He laughed, brushing his fingers over her cheeks. "Yeah well…you already got a baby out of me."

"Don't buy the goat if you can get the milk for free sort of thing?"

"It's buy the cow."

She pinched at his nose. "Well I am neither goat nor cow and you married me, pact or otherwise." She flicked at him, still smiling as she stepped away, to where Tali was calling for her to come look at her kitchen set. "And you are happy." She said it with such confidence. Almost a command.

I am happy, he thought, watching her walk off to join Tali. Because you are happy too. He leaned against the door to the large living room, where Tali was unpacking her kitchen toys, setting them out in neat rows on her plastic kitchen set. Ziva tried helping her, but got a scowl in response as Tali wanted to be a "big girl" and do it on her own, so she just rocked back on her heels and watched with a smile. He reached into his pocket and took out the paper, scanning it again.

 _I, Ziva David will marry Tony DiNozzo if we are not married in five years from the date of this document. And I will not kill him either. I, Tony DiNozzo, will marry Ziva David and will not back out of the agreement no matter how afraid I may be. This whole agreement is a cow point if we are married, otherwise engaged, or just don't like each other anymore._

A cow point, he thought with a laugh. Moot point. Moo point. "Guess it didn't matter," he mumbled. He folded the paper carefully and turned, setting it up on one of the built-in bookcase shelves, tucked behind the framed picture of the two of them from the previous month, arms aloft after he stepped on the glass, which had been probably one of the single coolest things he'd ever done, Schmiel standing behind them in his prayer shawl after marrying them, and Tali throwing her entire basket of rose petals on them both. It had been on a whim, after a conversation after dinner when Tali had asked if they were married and grew upset when she learned they weren't, since that's now how it was in her Disney movies.

It took a month to plan and execute, with just their friends there, and had been a 'huh why not?' moment for them both. He'd completely forgotten about the agreement. So much had happened the past few years and even locating the 'contract' earlier that year, he'd forgotten it again, too much happening. He turned around at Tali's call for him to come to her 'kitchen.' "Coming!" he shouted, bounding into the area of the living room designated for all her toys. He fell down beside Ziva. "Okay, I'm here. What are you cooking for me?"

"Stuff," Tali said, setting bowls and plates in front of them both. She chattered to herself in Hebrew as she puttered, happily "cooking" for them.

Ziva glanced sideways. "She gets this from you."

"Her good looks? I would say so."

"No, the dramatics."

"Um, dramatics? Healthy sense of imagination, Ziva."

"Potato, Poh-tah-toh." She looped her arm through his, resting her chin on his shoulder. She studied him for a moment, in that rather intense all-seeing way of hers, before smiling, her eyebrow quirking up. She leaned in and kissed his cheek. "I thought for awhile I was happy. I had Tali. I had a new future. New focus…a second chance." She swallowed hard, her voice cracking. "Then you came back into it and…and…I am really, truly happy now."

The fact that she could say that meant she'd come to peace with many things, he thought. The Ziva from five years ago, who didn't think children and a family were in her future wasn't at peace with herself and she wasn't going to have those things until she was, he thought. He brushed his thumb over her cheekbone and kissed her quickly. "Good," he whispered. He sighed hard. "Me too."

She grinned, kissing him hard and fast, before pushing up to her feet. "I'm going to go unpack some more things."

"I'm going to sit and let our daughter cook for me." He looked at Tali, who mimed as though she was sliding something off a plate onto his. His eyes widened. "This looks amazing Tali!"

She scowled at him. "No! Not yours." She took the plate and handed t to Kelev, who was seated in the chair beside him. She smiled. "For Kelev!"

"Okay then, I'll sit and watch Tali cook for her dog but not her Abba."

Both of the David-DiNozzo women patted his head. "Okay then," his wife said, kissing his cheek, while Tali just whacked him with one of the plastic plates, returning to her imaginary kitchen play. He grinned up at Ziva, who wandered away, rocking back onto his elbows to just watch Tali play. He leaned back and glanced over his shoulder at Ziva, who was humming to herself, unpacking boxes, while Tali did something similar as she played. He grinned. Took awhile, but they still got to where they both wanted to be.

 **THE END**


End file.
